


Gone (Ignis Scientia x Reader)

by inconsistencys



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Mini Fic, Other, ffxv brotherhood timeline, fluff?? maybe?? we'll see how sad i feel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inconsistencys/pseuds/inconsistencys
Summary: After a particularly nasty argument led to your departure from not only your relationship, but Ignis's life, the advisor struggles to face his emotions as he works in a world without you.





	1. day 00

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! this is going to be a short, sad mini fic with a few parts of around three to six hundred words. i hope y'all enjoy what i'm coming up with, and feedback is more than welcome! :)

_Your favorite vase was on the floor._

_“It’s never good enough for you, is it?”_

_Shards of painted glass cut into your toes._

_“No matter what I do, I’ll **never** pass any of your little tests.”_

_You gripped the remains of your dignity in your fists, wincing as your fingernails dug into your flesh. Stray tears kissed your cheeks, and you turned away before he would get a chance to catch you crying again._

_“Darling,” he started. His hand rose from its place on the kitchen counter, reaching for you, “You know that isn’t true.”_

_“Isn’t it?” You took another step toward the door. Another step away from him. With every stride, he could feel you pulling away. “Tell me, then, Ignis. Tell me what I’m doing right, for once.”_

_“Okay.” He let his palm return to the counter, resting his fingers against the smooth, cold surface._

_He opened his mouth, turning his next words over in his mind before letting his lips join each other again._

_For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say._

_“I’m leaving.”_

_Anger tied a knot in your throat as your hand clutched to the doorknob. Slowly, the knob turned under your palm, sending a resounding click through the apartment you shared._

_“Y/N, dear,” he called to you, and you couldn’t stop your head from turning his way._

_“You don’t have to go.”_

_You stared at him, meeting his gaze with a coldness you could hardly muster. Slowly, your focus shifted to his lips._

_They were shaking._

_“I’m sorry,” your words trembled as you turned away, “But I do.”_

_You slammed the door._


	2. day 01

Light poured into the bedroom, breaching the walls of a home with windows specked with dirt. He stirred, eyes hardly open, arms reaching for a presence that he couldn’t seem to find. As his hands grasped at air, he frowned, reminding himself that half of the bed– _your_ half of the bed–was empty.

Slowly, he tore himself from too-cold sheets, not bothering to remake the bedding he had disturbed. His body was heavy as he lifted his legs robotically, carrying himself to the kitchen in a daze. Food lay scattered across the surface of the counter, untouched since the events of the night prior. His gaze flitted to what was meant to be last evening’s dinner, resting on the meal for a millisecond before he looked away.

“Burnt,” he said. His voice was soft and cracking as his mind wandered, “As always.”

He ignored the food as he went about his morning. The smell of coffee began to fill the air, and he tried to hold his breath. The scent had never seemed so nauseating, before.

Two mugs–no.

One.

He sighed, returning your cup to its place in the cabinet with shaking hands.

_Crash_

_He startled, watching flowers spill from a broken vase._

He closed his eyes. Took a breath. Acknowledged the lack of a mug within his grasp.

_Shit._

He walked around the broken cup, eyeing the glass apprehensively as he poured coffee into his own, undamaged mug. Silently, he carried himself to the breakfast nook in which you spent your mornings, ignoring the pit that grew within his stomach when you weren’t waiting there for him.

He sighed, sipping too-hot, too-bitter coffee. He wanted to dwell on your words–to live in the night before. He wanted to say something else. He wanted to bury himself in the lack of your presence now, grieving the loss of someone who, _finally_ , understood.

He wanted to let himself miss you, but he couldn’t. You were gone. _Gone_ , and it was his fault. He didn’t deserve to wallow in your absence.

First and foremost, he was an advisor, and he had work to do.


	3. day 06

He had been staying at Noctis’s place for days.

The prince’s sheets were constantly changed. Laundry hardly made it into a basket before being thrown to the wash. The apartment was bare of even the idea of clutter.

Ignis had adopted his own desk. His papers, crinkled at the edges and covered in stains, littered the oak surface in uncharacteristic disorder. He leaned over them, now, pen in hand, glasses perched atop the bridge of his nose.

“You still here, Specs?” Noctis called, strolling into the apartment, “Thought you might’ve wanted to get out for a bit. Catch some fresh air.”

He sighed, leaning away from the documents with an irritated flutter of his lashes, “I mustn’t take any unnecessary breaks, Highness.” He thought for a moment, reminding himself that a meal had already been prepared and packaged in the refrigerator. “There is work to do.”

His friend frowned, discarding his jacket before finding his way to the kitchen.

“Gladio ran by your place earlier,” he continued to speak, desperate to pull conversation from the advisor’s lips, “He said it was a wreck.”

“Apologies,” Ignis replied, scribbling notes about budget management and council visits, “I will clean the apartment at my earliest convenience.”

“Ignis—”

“I have set aside several documents that require your attention,” the retainer spoke quickly, his voice reflecting his growing irritation with his prince, “I ask that you look over them as soon as you are able.”

Noctis nodded, stomach dropping as he returned to the study. The man who guided him from day to day was splitting at the seams, head resting in his palms, eyes closed in unspoken anguish. His work lay beneath his elbows, tearing under the weight of him.

“Okay,” he spoke softly, pulling the files from their place on his desk, “Okay, Specs. I’ll look at them now.”

The apartment was silent as he left, carrying the files with him. He closed the door gently, digging into his pockets with a free hand for his cell.

A call was made in the empty hall of his apartment building. Worried voices carried themselves over cheap receivers. Friends conferred, speaking in a mixture of English and phone static.

“This isn’t healthy,” one of them said, “He’s going to work himself to death in there.”

“I know,” Noctis replied, “I don’t know what to do, man.” 

“Well,” another spoke, voice dripping with concern, “I don’t know, either, but we have to do _something_ , right?”

They continued, each pacing the floors of a different building, wheels turning in their minds for a way to heal their companion. It was a mess— _he_ was a mess—but for once, they would be sure that the royal advisor wasn’t left alone to tidy up.


	4. day 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! this chapter is a whopping 1138 words, which is triple the length of my shortest chapter in this work (and way longer than i ever intended the part to be). that said, enjoy an extra long update, and don't be afraid to leave some feedback! it's very much appreciated :)

Dust had settled in his apartment. 

The things you had left behind lay scattered across the countertops, serving as makeshift monuments to the days you spent with him. Your toothbrush still rested next to his in the holder. Your nightgown was neatly folded on your side of the bed.

They were the last pieces of you he had—he couldn’t bring himself to package them away. 

“What should I do with this, Iggy?” Prompto called from behind the kitchen counter, recently cleared of the week-old remains of your argument. He was holding an apron in his hands, sending it offhanded glances as he waited for Ignis’s response. The advisor lifted his gaze to the article, allowing his chin to rest on his knuckle as he examined it. 

_“Well?” You grinned, modeling your newest purchase. The fabric hung loosely on your body, tied around your waist with a thick strip of ribbon. “Kiss the Cook” was embroidered along the front in bold lettering, and you stepped toward him as your next question fell from your lips. “What do you think?”_

_His lips curled into a smile as he eyed you. Warmth filled his gaze, and he reached for your hand, pulling you into his embrace._

_“I think,” he spoke softly, his voice dripping with affection as he pressed kisses into your hair, “This may have been your best purchase yet, my love.”_

“—Ignis? _Hello?_ Anybody in there?” 

You were gone as quickly as you came. 

He shook his head, ignoring the pain in his stomach as he gave the boy his answer. “Place it on a hanger, if you would.”

“Yes sir,” Prompto nodded, shooting Ignis a mock salute before making his way to the laundry room, “I’m on it.”

“You know,” Gladio’s voice carried itself to him from the dining area, “You’ll feel better if you get moving. Stand up. Stretch a bit.”

“Yeah,” Noctis called, “Maybe even pick up a thing or two.”

“Yes, of course,” Ignis pushed himself from his seat, forcing his legs to carry him to a different space, “My apologies.” 

The mug that had slipped from his grasp all those days ago had been swept away in the kitchen cleaning. Gladiolus’s efforts were moved to the dining room. Noctis was taking care of the bedroom. Prompto, bright-eyed and eager to help, busied himself with the clutter spread throughout the main living area. The advisor joined him, then, relocating your books from the coffee table to their places on the shelves with almost robotic movements. 

“Been reading a lot?” 

Prompto’s voice moved Ignis along as he reached for small talk. A smile took over Ignis’s lips, be it a sad one, as he replied. 

“No,” he said, “They were hers.” 

_Were._

The word stuck in his throat, sticking daggers into his lungs. He shelved another novel. 

“Oh,” Prompto replied, his voice dropping to a softer tone, “Sorry.”

“No need,” Ignis forced the words from his lips. It was beginning to hurt to breathe.

“Ignis,” Prompto pushed onward, reaching for a broom, “We’re all really worried about you, you know? If you need to talk—“

“ _Don’t._ ” He cut him off, eyes wide, gaze focused.

“Seriously, man,” Prompto continued, “We’re here—“

“Prompto,” Ignis reached for his arm, pulling the photographer back with more force than was needed, _“Stop!”_

The blonde stumbled backward, tripping over his feet as he landed near the loveseat with a thud. Ignis took a step, his attention focused on the glass scattered across the hardwood. 

“Ignis?” Prompto’s voice rose from his place on the floor, small and questioning as Noctis ran to his side. The prince was angry, shooting questions and disapproval at the advisor without restraint. Ignis remained unaware, bringing himself to kneel before the remains of a painted vase that, not too long ago, was your favorite thing in the world. 

_“Gladio aided me at the florist, darling,” he said, eyes gleaming as you fawned over your gift, “I believe the flowers suit you quite well.”_

_“Ignis,” you nearly flew into his arms, voice rising with excitement, “Ignis, it’s beautiful.”_

_“Do you like it?” He questioned, focused more on the warmth of your touch than the answer you gave._

_“Are you kidding?” You replied, lips pecking his cheek with every word, “I love it.”_

He sighed, pushing the remains into a pile, trying to envision the vase once more. 

_“What the hell, Ignis?”_

_You were shouting, now, eyes frantic and arms reaching for anything near enough to grab. Your hand wrapped around the neck of the vase—your vase. Your eyes flickered to the designs riddling the surface. You tried to focus on the flowers._

_“I don’t understand why this frustrates you,” he forced his voice to remain level, forced himself to be cold, “You asked for my opinion, and I gave it. Is there a fault in being truthful?”_

_You closed your eyes. Reminded yourself to breathe. Your grip on the vase loosened._

_“No,” you said, trying to calm yourself, “But there is a fault in being unkind.”_

_“Just as there were faults in your cooking today, my dear,” he replied, his words serving as his first mistake, “To which I have made you aware, no less. You should be grateful to me for helping you to improve.”_

_“Grateful?” You shot back, fingers tightening around the gift involuntarily._

_“Of course,” he continued, digging himself deeper into the mess he made, “Just as I am grateful for any criticism you may have for my own work.”_

_He realized, of course, that his reasoning was flawed. His phrasing was imprecise. His words were harsh. He was at fault, yet he couldn’t force himself to apologize. His pride, the damned thing, wouldn’t allow it._

_“I can’t believe this,” your muscles twitched. Your favorite vase was on the floor._

_“It’s never good enough for you, is it?”_

A hand was on his shoulder, jerking him back. 

“Hey,” Gladio was shouting, brow furrowed with anger as he tugged at Ignis’s arm, “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

Ignis stared blankly, confused, searching the room for the trigger of the Shield’s anger. Prompto was bleeding, now—a bump into the coffee table had torn a shallow cut in his side—as he watched Ignis with hurt swimming in his eyes. Noctis knelt at his side, checking over him for any other injuries as he spoke lowly to the photographer. 

_Oh._

He pulled himself from Gladio’s grasp, moving to Prompto’s side in a moment with apologies spilling from his lips. 

“Iggy,” Prompto laughed, but the sound escaping his lips sounded strained, “It’s okay, really. Don’t worry about it.” 

“No,” Noctis frowned, a hand placed protectively on his friend’s shoulder, “It’s _not_ okay. What's going on, Specs?” 

“Ignis,” Gladiolus’s voice rose over the others, booming and assertive, “You _have_ to talk to us.”

“We can’t have you hurting anyone else.”


End file.
